


The Fifth Acid

by this-shit-bnanas (writingandchocolatemilk), writingandchocolatemilk



Category: BNA: Brand New Animal (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:00:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25212058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingandchocolatemilk/pseuds/this-shit-bnanas, https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingandchocolatemilk/pseuds/writingandchocolatemilk
Summary: “Allow me,” Alan said.Michiru, who had been struggling with the wallet in her back pocket, stared at him like he had grown a second head. Mortified, maybe. “Oh, no—”“No, no,” Alan said, handing the cashier a sleek credit card, “I insist.”
Relationships: Alan Sylvasta/Kagemori Michiru
Comments: 25
Kudos: 138





	1. Coffee Spoons

**Author's Note:**

> [dabs]

Alan was being bored to death by the pitch for synthetic platelets when he first caught sight of her. She was sitting in the corner, trying to take up as little room as a possible and failing miserably. She scribbled frantically; Alan could hear the pen working from where he was sitting at the head of the table. Presumably, the other members of the board closer to her side of the room were deafened by it.

Alan tapped the tip of his lips with his finger.

Alan gave a noncommittal answer to the startup—the only answer he ever gave—and took a stroll down to HR. He chatted nicely, asked about Kimi's dogs, and found that the new hire's name was Michiru.

Who worked for Shirou.

Alan's interest only increased.

* * *

"Allow me," Alan said.

Michiru, who had been struggling with the wallet in her back pocket, stared at him like he had grown a second head. Mortified, maybe. "Oh, no—"

"No, no," Alan said, handing the cashier a sleek credit card, "I insist."

She flashed him a grateful smile, and hovered while he ordered his own drink. He took his black. Then, he stood by her while she devoured a muffin and drank her whip cream concoction.

"Thank you again," she was saying. "I feel like whenever I get up to cashiers, I suddenly can't use my hands. My wallet gets stuck, or I spill coins everywhere, it's a mess." She sucked down more coffee.

"It was my pleasure," he assured her. "Besides, I think I've seen you around."

She gaped at him; he could see the gears turning inside her head and waited for her to reach the conclusion. "Oh, my gosh, you're Alan! I saw you in the board meeting!"

Alan smiled. "And I saw you. Michiru, right?"

"Right! I've heard a lot about you from everyone." She used her straw to fish out more whip cream from the bottom of the cup. It was distracting, watching her bring it up to her mouth.

"Hopefully nothing too bad." Alan laughed and watched her scramble.

"Er—no!"

"No?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Well," she said, deciding on an answer, "you and Shirou have different—views of things." Oh, very diplomatic. Well done.

Alan took a sip of his coffee, eyes bright. "Well, hopefully he doesn't badmouth me _too_ much. I was quite enjoying buying you coffee; I would hate for him to think I have ulterior motives. But!" He checked his sleek watch. "I do have to get going. It was nice talking to you, Michiru."

* * *

Alan was reviewing the proposed ten-year-plan when Shirou burst in. Alan—who had been expecting this but who had hoped it would come later in the day, maybe after lunch—set aside the portfolio, steepled his fingers, and turned his attention over to Shirou.

"You rejected their proposal?" he growled.

Already so dramatic! "Good morning to you, Shirou."

Shirou stopped in front of his desk, seething. "That could—"

"I know, I know," Alan said. "But, unfortunately, they're going to need to give me a better product before I buy them out."

"You mean you turn all your resources into stealing their science? They could make the same thing if you had bought them out, gave them the—"

"If they couldn't give me a finished product, why couldn't I take the idea and make a much-improved product?" Alan gave a little shrug. "Seems like common sense to me."

Shirou was simmering, rage building up pressure. Maybe his head would pop off, Alan entertained. Shirou ground out: "You're wasting lives by not working with what they already offered."

"Or maybe I'm saving them by not giving them defective platelets." He really did have to read that proposal. "What does your little secretary-spy think?"

Alan had caught Shirou off balance. "She isn't either," he snapped.

Alan held up one finger. "I saw her during the proposal the other day, scribbling as fast as she could." He held up a second finger. "She's too perky to be in grad school. What would you be doing with an undergrad that wasn't a secretary?"

Shirou wasn't put off for long. "You're deflecting."

"I prefer to call it: agreeing to disagree." Alan smiled.

* * *

Alan waited a week to visit the coffee shop again. He had missed buying Michiru the coffee this time, but he only had to stand up straight and wonder over to the straws and spoons before she caught sight of him.

"Mr. Sylvasta!" she called, waving him down like he couldn't see her bright jacket from the street outside.

He grabbed a spoon and walked over to her. "Michiru," he purred. He presented her with the spoon, which she took and used to polish off the rest of the whipped cream. "It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you! I don't get to see very much of you up on that top floor." The spoon was more distracting than the straw. He watched her eat. He wondered, if he licked her, her skin would be sweet, too.

"Well, I wouldn't want to distract you from your work," Alan said without missing a beat. "I'm sure Shirou keeps you plenty busy."

"Oh, not really. A lot of it is procedural reviews, looking over proposals from R-and-D—"

"So," he said, "an awful lot of paperwork?"

Michiru laughed. "It's not bad." She said this earnestly, and Alan could see why Shirou would hire her. A little rough around the edges, but—"It's important, you know? All my classes, they talk a lot about science, but I didn't really even think about the ethics behind the science."

"The classic 'can we, should we' conundrum?"

Michiru tapped the spoon against her teeth, observing him for a brief second. Alan almost found himself flustered under her gaze. Oh, Shirou, you naughty dog, that whole innocence act. Michiru continued: "Yeah something like that."

"And what was your major?" Alan asked.

"Biology with a focus in bioinformatics," she rattled off.

"Another STEM kid," Alan sighed. "Here I am with my business degree—" Alan's phone beeped. He checked it. Damn. "Well, Michiru, I'm afraid I have to run off again on you." He fished out a business car and wrote his personal cell phone number—one of them—on the back of it. "Feel free to call me if you feel like you haven't seen enough of me."

She blushed, stammered. Alan grinned.


	2. Whiskey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alan is inconvenienced.

Shirou, that sly dog, had gotten Barbary Rose to start making a ruckus. She stood in front of him, hands behind her back neatly, and observed him like she was dissecting a specimen that was not particularly interesting. A necessary evil, Alan is, apparently.

"Let's skip the pleasantries," she said, not unkindly, but in the demeanor of a woman who wanted to solve a problem as quickly and efficiently as possible. A true scientist. "Shirou has led me to believe you passed up on a valuable company. Is this true?"

Alan leaned against his desk and crossed his arms loosely. "I suppose, depending on the viewpoint, it is."

"I won't pretend to appeal to your moral considerations, but this idea could be a windfall for patients with leukemia. Valuable proprietary patents, and so on and so forth." She arched an eyebrow ever so slightly.

Alan wished he could sigh deeply. "Yes, it was a very good idea. But if I bought out every good idea, I would be broke and all I would have to sell is empty promises." He held up his hands, helpless.

Rose considered this. "Very well. I'll look over their written proposal."

Alan smiled, making sure to crinkle his eyes so it looked real. "Always a pleasure, Doctor."

Rose left and Alan let the smile fall from his face. Rose was an excellent scientist, excellent at handling the… scientific vision, or whatever Alan's father thought was important, and even better at double checking the figures and publications. It was too bad she had twice as many morals as she did accolades. If she raised hell, every other scientist in the place would, too.

Sneaky, sneaky Shirou.

* * *

The week had been an endless parade of paperwork and meetings. While all very stimulating and important, none of it was particularly fun. So, to save himself from becoming made of marble and plastic himself, he logged into the company's security cameras.

A lot of it was rather mundane. Only certain cameras had sound—not that he could play it aloud—and there wasn't very much going on in the labs. He caught one argument, mimed with exaggerated arms, but that was about it.

Well, Alan shouldn't lie to himself.

Michiru hadn't texted him.

That he hadn't expected.

Giving up the gun, he clicked through until he found the cramped Ethics and Review office. Michiru was bunched into a ball on the chair, knees up under her chin, squinting at her computer screen. Her tongue stuck out from the corner of her mouth as she concentrated.

But why hadn't you called, Michiru?

Shirou entered the office. Michiru was still concentrating, but Alan had a bird's eye view. Shirou made the pretense of shuffling some papers, picking them up, putting them back down—watched Michiru while he did all this behind her.

Alan tapped a pen as he watched.

Michiru heard him eventually and whipped around in her chair, presumably greeting Shirou, but all Alan could see was the slope of her shoulders and the nape of her neck. Alan rested his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow on the table.

What were the odds of someone barging in?

Low, he decided, and flipped on the camera's mic.

(Alan had made sure the camera in the E&R department had a microphone. Couldn't have those pesky philosophy majors destroying a multimillion-dollar drug, could he?)

"—reviewing a lot of the SOPs," Michiru's bright voice chirped. "There seems to be a lot of stuff already in place for animal trials, but there isn't anything outright about the obligation of companies to make decisions for the general public… is there?"

"Not exactly," Shirou said. Typical. "But it makes more sense. Less effort spent in proposal and designs, faster product production which in turn lowers the price."

Alan rolled his eyes, but Michiru didn't already know the answer, so she asked: "But Japan has universal healthcare, so what's the gain?"

Shirou shuffled the same pile of papers _again_. "America doesn't, and this is an American-based company. Good science from Japan, and good money from America." Shirou wasn't even from America. Alan rolled his eyes again.

Michiru hummed, the sound tinny over the microphone. But Michiru, it was all that sweet money that bought you that fancy coffee you like. Alan tapped his lips with the tip of his finger.

* * *

Alan sipped the whiskey, letting it roll over his tongue. A gift from some investor or stockholder or another, whoever he had been meeting with. He wondered if it was illegal to accept a gift over fifty-dollars—five-thousand yen, excuse him. He couldn't remember and smiled.

He looked out the window onto Yokohama, the lights blinking across the rooftops like lightning bugs. The city always looked better at night. Every city did, he thought. He took another long sip.

It was Friday.

Alan stood, poured himself a glass, and decided to wander. Well, _wander_ was such a strong word. He had been itching to take a stroll to E&R.

It was seven floors below him. The halls were dark, lit only by the auxiliary lights, and it smelled like ink. He had shoved E&R onto the record floor, and there was a general air of clutter, of papers out of place. He wondered if it irritated Shirou as much as it would irritate Alan.

The lights were still on in E&R. He stepped in, ready to—

Michiru turned in her chair and blinked blearily at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some brief notes:
> 
> Firstly, this is an Alan x Michiru fic rn. I don't know if we'll add some Shirou x Michiru later on; keeping it fluid, my dudes. This is a free writing activity for when my job is slow and I'm procrastinating. There's no plot besides what I make up on the fly.
> 
> Next, I encourage you to reach out to me on Tumblr at this-shit-bnanas to discuss Alan and Michiru (and others). I'm more responsive on there. Chat my dudes. 
> 
> Finally, addressing my favorite review I've ever received (on FFn): yes, the rating will change to mature.


	3. Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alan invites Michiru.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ does the worm ] 
> 
> note the rating change

Michiru had her laptop behind her and piles of paper around her. Her knees were pulled up under her, feet resting on the computer chair. She was dressed casually, almost in pajamas, like she had gone home to change before returning to the office. Her backpack lay beside her, gutted. It took her a moment for her to recognize him, and then she sat up straight in her chair.

"Mr. Sylvasta," she said, voice a ringing bell in the silence, "I didn't expect to see you here."

Alan smiled. "I didn't expect to see anyone here, myself." His eyes flicked up to the camera. "I had a business meeting that ran late," he volunteered. He hoped she didn't ask why he had come to E that would be a little trickier to explain. "How about you?"

"Oh!" She looked around at her cluttered workspace. "Oh, I don't even really know." She laughed. "Just doing some homework, I guess. My roommate, Nazuna, is having a party-thing. She's on Instagram, and she's really famous and pretty, but she throws a lot of parties during the week."

Alan made a mental note to look her up later. "That's unfortunate. Doesn't help that you're relegated to E&R. If you'd like, I can give you access to another floor that has a conference room."

Michiru's eyes lit up. "Oh, that would be great! Hard to concentrate on schoolwork in the same place I do regular work." She yawned, head tilting back. Alan could see her throat working.

Alan leaned against a filing cabinet and took another sip from his glass. "Anything in particular you're working on?"

"Just some research. Going through some articles." She raised one shoulder in a lazy shrug. "I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to be looking for." She grinned, like Alan was in on the joke and they were both conspirators.

"Do you like school?"

Another shrug. "I guess. I only really went because I got a basketball scholarship. I didn't know what to major in, so I picked biology, but I didn't want to do anything with actual cells, and Nazuna told me about coding and all that stuff, so I started doing that. That's how I got this job."

Talkative, this one. Alan wished he could record this conversation to replay it later. Michiru was telling him a lot about her life. He wanted to delve into it like a lake. "And how's the job? Do you like it?"

She perked. "Yeah, I do actually. I didn't know that biology had so many parts that aren't really involved with science. Or well, they are, but involved more with the heart than the mind, you know?" A poor, lost humanities major. Alan opened his mouth to ask her another question, but she beat him to the punch. "Where are you from? Your Japanese is very good."

Alan smiled before he could help himself. "I'm from America, originally. But I went to school in Japan and China. I was born to run the Asian branch of Vasta Pharmaceutical." He smiled again, but she didn't laugh at the joke.

In fact, she frowned at him, and he wanted to bite her bottom lip. "Did you ever want to do anything else?"

It had never been a matter of _want_. Alan had been told, in no uncertain terms, his destiny in life. And he had risen to it, exceeded it. All he had ahead of him was money and expansion and conglomerates and monopolies. A snake doesn't question why it constricts. "I always liked this line of work." He threw in a little lie: "But I like painting and baking."

"Do you like any sports?" Michiru asked eagerly.

"I could be convinced to." Alan took another sip of his drink. "Say, why did you never call me?"

Michiru froze for one second, clearly wishing he hadn't brought it up, with no excuse at the tip of her tongue. "Ah, well—"

Alan held up one hand placatingly. "There's no pressure. I just wanted to make sure I didn't make you uncomfortable." _Had_ he made her nervous? He thought he had been relatively nonthreatening. "I want to assure you that I would only try to advise you professionally, if you so desired."

Michiru squirmed in her seat. Alan wanted to pry her thighs apart and hold them there, his head between them. "It's just that Nazuna wasn't sure if… Well—"

"She's wary of my intentions," Alan purred. "Understandable. Intentions can change. Intentions are fickle. So, let me make you a proposal. There's a little soiree next Friday for some influential people in the scientific and business world of pharmaceuticals. It would be good to meet them, talk about yourself, be charming in general. You can see that my intentions are as noble as a lion's."

Michiru's eyes sparkled. It was tantalizing bait, but it would require Alan getting his secretary to call the event organizers to wrangle another seat for Michiru. But, well, that's what Alan had a secretary for.

Michiru nodded. "It sounds really fun. It would be nice to meet some people doing something fun instead in labs all the time."

"I'll say." Alan had to end the interaction now, he reasoned. Anything longer would seem desperate, or maybe spook her. "Well, I suppose I should let you get back to your homework, shouldn't I?" A spark of disappointment in her eyes? Or was that just wishful thinking. "Have a good night."

Michiru beamed at him. "Have a good night, Alan."

Progress.

* * *

Alan took to staying late at the office, after everyone had left. Finally, Wednesday, Michiru stayed late again.

Alan didn't have much of a plan. He watched her through the security camera. She was scrunched up in the chair again, eyebrows furrowed at whatever was on her laptop, hands working furiously at the keyboard and then falling limp beside her. What were you working on, Michiru?

Alan wanted to smooth her out. He wanted to stretch her out, have her face relax, her mouth open, eyes partly closed. Arms outstretched—no, hands above her head, the smooth underside of her arms exposed.

Alan groaned slightly against the pressure from his erection. He unbuttoned his pants and pulled it free, stroking it lazily, eyes glued to the screen. He had no lotion, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Nothing to be done, nothing to be done, wondering what sounds Michiru made if he were to enter her, a sharp inhale of breath, a moan of her own, a squirm.

Michiru on his screen stretched her shoulders, arms behind her head, arching her back. He imagined sneaking his hands up underneath her shirt, slipping underneath the band of her bra. She played sports, didn't she, he bet she wore sports bras, so he would push it up and cup her breasts, tweak the nipples and make her let out a soft cry, it hurt but she wanted more, pushing into his touch even as she cried out.

Alan ripped his hand away from his dick, trying to stave off the orgasm, closing his eyes and focusing on his breathing. Easy Alan, he wasn't a teenager, he could last longer than _this_.

But when he opened his eyes and Michiru was biting her lip, head tilted to the side, he imagined her hand instead of his, that same expression on her face, and Alan came with a moan, a moan.

He shuddered for a second, watching Michiru return to her work.

Well, that was fun. He hoped the real thing was as good.


	4. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alan is genre-savvy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everyone for the kind reviews. I read them a lot but I [check notes] suck. I'm also busy but know I really appreciate them!

Shirou had some pretense or another to be up in Alan's office, but it was neither explicit nor satisfactory. It never was.

As Shirou waved his arms and growled about some test or another, Alan wondered when—if—he could ever fire him. Alan wasn't even Shirou's direct superior. Shirou shouldn't even _be_ in Alan's office unless someone had held up a mouse and ripped its head off right in front of him. Which was a shame, because at least that would be interesting.

As it was, Shirou was here. In front of him.

Honestly, it was too bad Rose saw some great potential in Shirou. The man didn't even have a PhD, and anything great he could do was clouded over with his stalwart adherence to ethics. Maybe he and Rose had dated at some point. Who broke up with who?

"Shirou," Alan said, interrupting, "this is just a rough draft. A trial run, even. There's only so much we can do with the genetic research."

"So much?" His eyes almost bugged out of his skull. "Run another cell culture. It's one thing to test the effects on cells, another to start with mice—"

"I wonder if the cells would agree," Alan said. It did nothing to quell Shirou. "Science only progresses through trial and error. The results from the preliminary studies are back, they're done, Shirou."

"And I've read the procedure," Shirou shot back. "There's—"

"Is there a particular reason you've come to me instead of Rose or your superior?"

Ah, there we go. Shirou was caught off guard, eyes flashing with irritation, confusion. Maybe it was a subconscious thing, trying to protect his little bunny rabbit. Alan grinned. Shirou said: "I didn't know I had to make an appointment."

"Is this about me inviting Michiru to that little party?" Alan played with a pen on his tabletop.

Shirou didn't stop to think. Not very coolheaded, this one. "Why would Michiru's personal life have anything to do with what we're currently discussing?"

Alan gave a little shrug. "Perhaps this has less to do with the—" _fucking_ "—mice and more with the ethics of dating an employee?"

Shirou's face was stony. "I believe that's an HR issue."

Alan gestured. "And I believe this is an issue for the lab director or your direct superior." He shuffled the lab procedure Shirou had thrown on his desk and handed it back to him. "If you have any further concerns, don't hesitate to contact me again." With an email, maybe.

Shirou's eye twitched.

* * *

Alan checked his hair in the sun visor. He had been waiting for Michiru in the parking lot for fifteen minutes; hopefully she hadn't gone home and decided to stay there. His suit was nice, and he had brought an umbrella for the rain, and his hair was good. Where—

Michiru knocked frantically on the passenger side window.

Alan unlocked it and a soaking Michiru fell into the passenger seat. She shook her hair out like a dog, laughing. She sat on heated, leather seats, dripping and giggling. "Sorry!" she said, "I was walking here and I got caught in the rain." Her teeth had started to chatter.

"Perfectly alright," Alan said, amused despite himself. He turned the heat up and began to drive. "Do you live far? How'd that all happen?"

Michiru wrung out her hair into her lap. "I was just taking the bus here, but the stop is a few blocks down and I guess I forgot to check the weather." She looked around Alan's car like she had just realized where she was. "Your car is really nice!"

"Thank you. It's a Mercedes."

She rubbed the smooth black dashboard. "I guess I didn't really realize you had a car."

Alan had told her he was going to pick her up at work, but he didn't feel the need to remind her. "It doesn't get much use. I would love to take it for a road trip, some day." It would likely get stolen, but he also kept that to himself.

"A road trip?" She looked at him, nose wrinkling as she smiled. "That's an American thing, right? Japan is pretty small. And we have a lot of trains."

"Yes, but a train trip doesn't sound as nice." This got a nice laugh from her. "You look nice tonight."

She had worn a pair of leggings and a nice, flowy top. She had thrown that warm jacket on top of the ensemble. She was severely underdressed. There was a little braid in her hair; Alan wondered if she had done it, fingers nimble, or if that roommate had helped.

"Thank you," she said, unabashed. "I burrowed this top from Nazuna. I told her it was a soiree, but she said there are a bunch of types of those, so we didn't really know what I should wear." Her phone buzzed and she pulled it out and became absorbed.

She leaned forward to read and text back, hair hanging down and exposing the back of her neck. A sliver of her back was exposed—he could see it in the flashes of warm light from the streetlamps—and Alan wanted to reach out with one hand and touch her there, feel the cold of her spine, the curve of her ribs, the soft of stomach and the tops of her hips.

Alan looked back at the road and tapped a beat on the steering wheel. When she looked up from the phone, he asked: "Have you eaten?"

"Nope." She looked out the window at the passing buildings. "There's food at this thing, right?"

"There's alcohol, and snacks." Alan glanced over slowly—casually, he hoped. "We could always grab food afterwards.

"There's probably not a McDonald's nearby, huh?" She sighed in mock disappointment. Alan didn't think it was entirely fake. "Buildings here are too nice; it would be funny to see a McDonald's just there, in between everything." She pulled out her phone again. Distractedly, she said: "Actually, where are we going?"

Alan wanted to pull the car over and take her wrists, squeeze to feel the tendons underneath his fingers. Catch her gaze with his own. "An art gallery. It's rather nice, you might like it. Abstract and modern."

Michiru perked up. "I was worried it was going to be, like, a board room. A meeting."

Alan exhaled sharply through his nose. "The people going to this thing have seen the inside of enough board rooms to last a lifetime. They like to spice it up a little."

Michiru looked at him again. He could feel her thinking next to him. "Are you one of those people?"

Was he? "Maybe," he said. "I won't object to looking at fine art."

She hummed. There was a heartbeat of silence. And then, in another tone of voice: "If you had to pick a place, where would you pick?"

Alan had picked places before. Rooftop gardens and rich mahogany rooms and mirrors reflecting the same people again and again. Rich and polite and terribly boring. He had been to a beach for something—he forgot what—but it was a mess, with sand working its way into shoes, but it had been nice, the dark, the waves crashing unseen.

"McDonald's," he said.

She burst out laughing. "Really?"

"Sure," he said. He heard something playful in his voice, unconsciously. "Good food, good atmosphere—" She erupted into giggles again. "How about you?" he returned.

"Hm, that's a hard one." She jiggled her knee, _hm_ ing some more. "I guess somewhere with water? I don't know if that's fancy enough."

Alan blinked, the only sign of surprise he gave. "That sounds nice," he said, almost to himself.


	5. Obelisk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is champagne and basketball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry my dudes i'm busy af
> 
> i appreciate the kind comments <3
> 
> also proud to still be the only alan x michiru fic i can find (:

"And what do you do?" asked Takahashi Fumihiro, CEO of Issho ni Kursuri; the number one competitor of Vasta Pharmacueticals in Japan.

"Mainly basketball," Michiru replied. "It's not a professional league or anything, but it's pretty competitive and we're good."

Alan smiled pleasantly as Michiru continued to explain her team's position in the intermural division. Fumihiro, absolutely baffled, listened and nodded along. It was probably a nice change of pace from the constant peacocking, demure bragging, and veiled threats this little party was brimming with.

Fumihiro's wife, Laurence, tilted her head. She had clearly picked out the English word in the babble of Japanese. "I played football in college," she said in a heavy French accent. And in English.

Alan watched the panic flash across Michiru's face. Her eyes widened, and he watched her mouth pull down into a little dazed grimace. He quickly translated for her, adding that Laurence was from France.

Michiru perked up at this. "She's from France? Is she from Paris? Has she seen the Eiffel Tower?"

Fumihiro translated this time, remembering that his wife was not actually fluent in Japanese and was likely bored out of her mind at a party filled with Japanese men.

France. Alan could feel his smile grow tight. There was a place Alan wished hadn't come up tonight.

Michiru, fed up with Fumihiro's translation, pulled out her phone and began typing. Laurence looked it over, took the phone, and typed something back. They passed the phone back and forth between them, and Laurence even laughed, while Michiru drilled away at the keyboard.

Fumihiro watched this, bemused, before returning his attention to Alan. "I've heard your company is looking into synthetic blood. Awfully flooded market, wouldn't you say?"

"And here I thought our scientists signed confidentially agreements," Alan said, voice light and jovial. They were not actually looking into it that thoroughly, but junior scientists jump at the chance to prove their worth, and who was Alan to dissuade them? "And how about you?"

"Good." Fumihiro's tone was final, like a load of bricks crashing to the floor. "We have a new joint contract from an American company. We're moving into clinical trials within the next six months. A diabetes treatment."

Alan could have punched him right in the teeth. "Sounds like an exciting venture!" Alan said. "Figures the Americans spearheaded this. Hopefully your company can develop some patentable products in the future, so the profits are all yours."

"You as well," Fumihiro ground back.

Alan took Michiru gently by the elbow and moved her away from Laurence. They waved goodbye.

"She was really nice," Michiru said.

"What did you two talk about?" Alan asked, handing her a glass of champagne.

"Just sort of normal stuff. I asked about what she did, and France, and she asked if I had ever been to Tokyo." She took a sip, looking around at the art.

Alan walked next to her, one hand behind his back, the other holding another glass of champagne. "Have you?"

Michiru's looked a long time at a dark red line stretching across the white plain of a canvas. "No." There was something in her voice, like she was trying to be breezy, like he had hurt her feelings. "Are all these paintings for sale?"

"If I want them to be." She looked at him, something like a smile on her face. Alan was encouraged by the expression. "Pick one out. I'll wrap it up and send it to you." He wasn't sure if he was joking or serious. It depended on her.

She clapped her hands together and moved deeper into the gallery. "Well, let's see what we have then."

Alan glanced at his watch while she dithered over a splattered sunset. He had maybe fifteen minutes to indulge in this before he would have to head back into the fray. Might as well make the most of it. "I've never been a big fan of cities, myself." Testing the wasters out, seeing what that Tokyo reaction had been all about.

"Really?" Michiru looked at him, eyes round. "I've always loved cities. They're so big and full of life. Hard to be lonely when there's so many people around."

When had you been lonely, Michiru? "But you didn't grow up in Yokohama, though, did you?"

She snorted, cocking her head at another painting. "No. I grew up in the opposite of Yokohama." She wasn't really looking at the painting anymore. Murky brown eyes, wading through the past. He should be a poet. She looked like broken lines and paragraphs. "You wouldn't have heard of it."

Alan turned this over. A small-town girl—that explained the wonder, the exuberance. And, perhaps, the earnestness. You didn't have an art gallery in your town, did you, not within miles. "But you made it here."

Michiru looked at him and smiled. "Nazuna and I."

They came upon a sculpture. It was huge, stretching towards the ceiling in impossible arches and spindles. Michiru walked between the legs, head craned back. She seemed—what, fragile? Maybe soft, next to the hard stone.

"I'm sorry," Alan said. "I missed that."

Michiru repeated: "Where did you grow up?"

Alan considered lying. But. But. He didn't know enough about her. He couldn't think of something that she would buy, something sincere enough. Well, and maybe he was tired, too. "Bit of everywhere. My parents were divorced—my father thrice, actually. I never saw much of my mother. My father traveled for work; I was sent to boarding schools. My mother sent Christmas cards." His words came out more bitter than he had intended. He shrugged. "A fine childhood."

Michiru leaned against one of the supporting beams of the sculpture (which numerous signs warned against). "What were they like?"

"Who?"

Michiru's mouth quirked into a smile. "Your parents."

"Oh." Alan didn't have an answer for that. "Good. They were good parents."

The words came easy, but something must have been off, because Michiru clearly didn't believe him. She pressed her lips together, eyes flicking up and down. It wasn't very often Alan was caught out in a lie. "My parents were divorced, too." She said this in a hushed voice.

Alan was suddenly, _vividly_ aware of Michiru's presence. Her hair, dried strange after the rain, the flush in her cheeks, her eyes, watching him, dark in the shadows of the obelisk. She seemed so solid, feet planted on the ground, gravity pulling them both downwards. Her parents had been divorced in a small-town Alan didn't even know existed.

"Well," he heard himself say from far away, "generally divorce creates a happier household."

This seemed like a wrong thing to say, but Michiru nodded, serious. And Michiru, the emboldened, the enthusiastic, the sanguine, said: "Sometimes those things are better—well, it's better to use your head, you know?"

Oh, Michiru. "You know," he said, giving her his champagne glass in exchange for her empty one, "you're quite mysterious."


	6. Afterparty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alan and Michiru retire from the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long waits my dudes. it was. a weird few weeks.
> 
> hopefully i can pump out the next chapter before my semester starts. i've been waiting to write it since i started this fic.

Michiru swayed on her feet. "Oh."

Alan prayed the valet people would hurry up. "Are you alright, Michiru?" he said, voice calm yet urgent. She needed to tell him if something was wrong because she was absolutely and utterly piss-drunk.

Laurence, also waiting for her car, looked sympathetically over at the two of them. Alan positioned his body between Michiru and the other stragglers of the party, desperately hoping they wouldn't notice—

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, voice soft and wavering. "Sometimes I drink and—and I—sometimes I drink and I…"

"That's alright," Alan soothed. "That's alright, Michiru. It's alright."

"Oh god." She hid her face in her hands. "I'm so sorry."

Alan took her hands and gently lowered then. "Look at me." He bent his head so he was level with her.

She did. Her eyes were large and watery, her nose red from the raw wind and the near-tears. Her cheeks were splotchy. In the cold he could see her breath billowing out from her mouth, wet and warm. Her lips were damp.

Alan cleared his throat. "I don't want you to worry about it."

Michiru leaned close. Alan could smell the alcohol on her breath. It would be so, so easy to close the gap between them, press his lips into hers. Have her eyes slide close while he devoured her whole.

Michiru's eyes were unfocused. "Alan…"

She bent over and vomited on his shoes.

"Christ," Alan muttered.

He grabbed her and half dragged, half carried her to some nearby, aesthetically pleasing bushes. She continued to retch while he rubbed her back. Poor landscapers. Luckily, she didn't have much in her stomach, so it wasn't long before she was just dry heaving.

"Okay," she said, voice wobbly. She sniffled, and Alan winced in sympathy. He wished he had a tissue. "Okay, I think I'm done."

"Are you sure?" he said. "We can stay here as long as you want." He pointedly ignored the glares from the valet scattered around his idling car.

She rubbed her mouth. "No."

"No what?"

"No, let's go," she slurred.

Alan manhandled her into the car, tipped the valet generously, and got in. She curled in her seat, eyes glassy. Alan wanted to pull over and place his hands on either side of her face, tilt her blank face this way and that, a little doll. Strange she was so quiet drunk.

"What's your address, Michiru?"

She seemed to ignore him, fumbling for her phone. She clicked the home button. It was dead. "I have to text Nazuna. I told her—I _told_ her I would text." She continued to click the phone.

"Here." Alan held out the car charger. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, watched her struggle to put in the port. "I think it's the wrong generation," he said kindly.

"Shit," she muttered, almost too low for him to hear.

Alan let out a laugh.

Her eyes focused on him. "You know," she said, "I like your…" But he didn't catch the last word.

"My what—"

"You _profile_ ," she said, loudly and slowly, like Alan was the drunk one. She then reached out to—something, probably touch his nose—but she overshot, and her hand smushed against his face.

"Ow."

"Shit," she repeated. She grinned like a loon when Alan laughed again. "Do you really like hanging out with me?" Her voice was smothered with affection, disbelief. "You have all this… stuff."

"I do like you." Alan flicked his blinker on, heading towards his apartment. "And what does stuff have to do with it?"

"Well…" She sounded uncertain. "It's like. It's like… I'm too, like, big. Like I'm going to knock something over. But you don't make me feel like that." She smiled dreamily. "I feel like a… I don't know. I like how I feel around you."

Alan hummed. He threw his blinker on, pulled into a McDonald's, and parked. She gasped excitedly, starting to babble, but he grabbed her just like he wanted, her cheeks warm against the palms of his hands, and he kissed her.

Michiru's lips moved slowly against his own. They were chapped and damp, and she had, of course, just vomited, but Alan sighed deeply.

It wasn't more than a second or two, and then Alan was leaning away, hands returning to his steering wheel, disobedient. "What do you want?"

"A milkshake," Michiru immediately said.

He got her some fries and a shake. She ate them while the oily smell sank into the leather of his seats.

She was absolutely shitfaced. He doubted she would remember the kiss, which is why he had done it. But… if she _did_ remember it, he would gamble she wouldn't mind.

He should have pressed her for her address, or bought her a charger, or a million other things.

He drove her to his apartment and carried her bridal style—as she had passed out—into his apartment. He put her in the guest room. She balled the sheets around her, moaning, tossing uneasily.

* * *

And Michiru had picked out a painting. She had stood in front of it, teetering, and almost reached out to touch it.

It wasn't large. The white of the canvas had been mixed with yellows and oranges, ever so slightly, so the snow of negative space almost sang with warmth. No brush strokes, smooth as alabaster.

And in the center, thick with dried mountains of paint, a black circle, ragged and gaping.

* * *

He looked at it now, in the dark. It leaned against the mantle, where he intended to hang it.

Reclined in a hardbacked leather chair, looked at it and took long sips of scotch.

* * *

Alan awoke in the light of dawn.

He meandered to the kitchen, wondering what he could make Michiru for breakfast. _If_ he should make her anything for breakfast.

He peered over to where the kitchen became the living room, cool tile giving way to plush carpet. Giant windows covered the far side of the room, taking up the entire wall. And curled up against it was Michiru.

Alan froze.

She had stolen one of his sweaters from somewhere, which drenched her in fabric. She sat on the ground, knees up underneath the knit, holding a steaming cup topped with whip cream. Her head rested against the cold glass, her eyes on the city.

It was overcast, the clouds bathing everything in gray. Even Michiru.

Alan felt an intruder in his own home.

She took a sip from her mug, licking a bit of the whip cream.

Alan wanted to crawl over to her, rest his head in her lap and breathe her in, warm coffee and sleep. Her to pet his hair and look out over the city, humming, something so deep and old in her, carefully nurtured and here before him.

Alan backed away silently, retracing his steps. And then he walked them again, dragging his feet, yawning and stretching loudly. This time, Michiru looked up at him, smiling and tilting her head to the side.

"Good morning," she said, voice scratchy still with sleep.

"Good morning," Alan said. "Do you need to call Nazuna?"

Michiru's face blanched. "Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck." She scrambled up from the ground. "Oh my god, she probably thinks I'm dead."


End file.
